


The Arrival

by stefanie_bean



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: Challenge Response, Complete, Drabble, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 12:33:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1858224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stefanie_bean/pseuds/stefanie_bean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tiny little Comte Philippe de Chagny drabble about the night Philippe's life changes forever.  Originally written for a POTO character challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Arrival

The woman's arm lay insensate across Philippe de Chagny's chest, and he shoved it off, not caring if he woke her. But the wine had done its work and she didn't stir, even though the knocking at the door cut through the cold early morning air with hard chops. Damn, he cursed to himself. The fire in the grate had gone out, and the blue-upholstered guest bedroom of the Parisian townhouse had grown bone-chillingly cold.

"Stop that filthy racket," Philippe shouted. "I'm coming."

He pulled his trousers up over his slim nakedness, his shoulders just starting to broaden as men's do when they reach their early twenties. The knocking had stopped, but he could sense the man outside, waiting. The quilted dressing gown did nothing to keep out the chilly air, and he groped for the linen blouse beneath, buttoning it with fingers clumsy with cold and interrupted sleep.

The man at the door held the telegram just out of reach, his hand begging for a coin. "Monsieur le Vicomte, I am so sorry to disturb you, but your valet had this sent over, with strict instructions..."

Philippe de Chagny hesitated only a moment, then decisively took the telegram from the servant's hand. In another man it would have seemed like a snatch, but Philippe did it so delicately, so deftly, that no breach of manners could be ascertained at all.

He read it, and his face grew pale as his hair. Swaying, he saw for a moment nothing but the stark cold words, and the man's still-outstretched hand. Digging in his trouser pocket like an automaton he found a coin and handed it over, not caring whether it was a centime or a gold louis.

"Monsieur... It is bad news, no?"

Philippe gripped the paper in his fist and turned away, not seeing the servant make the Sign of the Cross as he left.

A few days later, after a long hard ride through driving winter rain which turned to frozen sleet, he arrived at the old country house, and stared down into the cradle at the small, red face of his brother.

( _the end_ )


End file.
